


Lonely But Not Alone

by Svartalfhild



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Meeting the Parents, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29211120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svartalfhild/pseuds/Svartalfhild
Summary: After attending the funeral of a subordinate, Data is reminded of one of the greatest losses of his life, and he dreams of wishes that can never be fulfilled.  In the process, he learns something about what it means to mourn.
Relationships: Data & Spot (Star Trek), Data/Tasha Yar
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Lonely But Not Alone

There were many duties which Lieutenant Commander Data found fulfillment in performing, but he was quite certain that attending the funerals of his crewmates was not one of them, especially when it was someone directly under his command. He considered many members of the Ops department to be his friends, and when such friends were lost, he felt at least a little of that familiar sense of emptiness he had come to associate with the deaths of those who had touched his life.

The funeral of Lt. Goran Novak was no different. He had been a bright young metallurgist and talented percussionist with a jovial personality. Professionally, he had often helped Data coordinate teams in repairing and improving ship structures. Off-duty, Novak was a fellow musician who had shown Data many intriguing perspectives on the art form. All that he was, all 24 years of his promising life, had been lost in a matter of seconds to a hull breech. As Novak’s commanding officer and friend, Data was asked to speak at the funeral.

Standing before his fellow officers in formal dress, Data found no difficulty in delivering the obligatory solemn words to them and to the casket. He had been serving with Starfleet long enough to know the formula for a eulogy. It was the sense of absence that he never quite got used to, not just in himself, but in the organics around him. He did not like seeing them in distress when he was so often at a complete loss as to how to comfort them. Some were easier to help than others, especially among the humans, but the less familiar he was with a person, the harder it was for him to assess the best way to ease their pain.

Lt. Novak’s funeral was one of the more difficult occasions. He had not been among Data’s closer friends, and thus Data knew most of the lieutenant’s friends even less. The only exception was Lt. T’Lahr, a young Vulcan historian who played the harp. She was as stoney as ever during Novak’s service, but if the rumors were true, she and Novak had shared a romantic bond, and Data had to wonder if her hidden well of Vulcan emotions was in even greater turmoil than those of their colleagues. He knew her just well enough to understand that regardless of how badly she might need comfort, she would never accept such help. He also knew himself well enough to understand that his bumbling attempts to be comforting might do more harm than good, especially with T’Lahr, but even so, his programming compelled him to do something.

When he found T’Lahr standing alone, gazing out the window of Ten Forward during the reception, he decided to go over and stand beside her, hoping that his silent presence would be a sufficient show of support for her Vulcan sensibilities. They stood quietly looking at the stars for 22 minutes and 45 seconds without interruption. Not once did T’Lahr so much as glance at him in that time, but it was she who broke the silence.

“Thank you, sir,” she said simply in her soft voice before she turned at walked away, leaving the reception. For a brief moment, Data wondered if he had offended the lieutenant, but when he did a comparison analysis of her tone and body language with her usual behaviour, he thankfully found that she most likely had been genuinely comforted by his presence.

As Data turned to look back at the stars a little longer, he was struck by a feeling of familiarity. He was being reminded of a similar occasion he had experienced before, only he had been the one who had needed help.

It had been the day after Tasha Yar’s death, and Lt. Worf had found him sitting on the sofa in the late Security Chief’s quarters, holding a half-folded blouse in his hands. He had volunteered for the task of gathering up Tasha’s things, but he’d barely begun before he’d been waylaid by the observation that some of her clothes, particularly this silky blue garment, still carried hints her unique scent. The olfactory experience had the odd but satisfactory effect of temporarily filling the void in his neural pathways where the expectation of Tasha’s input had once lived. In other words, it made him feel like she was still there with him. He found that he was reluctant to give up that sensation, which was why Worf had found him 1 hour and 4 minutes later, still sitting on the sofa with Tasha’s blouse clutched in his hands. It hadn’t taken the Klingon long to realize Data was distracted when his arrival prompted no movement whatsoever from the android.

“Are you alright, Commander?” he’d asked.

“I do not know,” Data had replied. Worf came closer and waited patiently for him to elaborate. It took several moments before he could properly respond. “It appears to be difficult for me to pack up Tasha’s possessions. They are partially satisfying my desire to see her again.” These words brought a deep look of sadness to Worf’s dark eyes.

“I...miss her as well.” Data had not realized that that was exactly what he was experiencing too until Worf had said it. Part of him was glad there was a simple way of expressing this sensation, but another part of him wondered if it was sufficient to convey the degree of emptiness he felt. Thankfully, Worf was more pragmatic than philosophical about the situation. “Perhaps you would like assistance in this task,” he offered.

“I would be grateful for your help, Lieutenant. I am concerned that I will not be able to complete this task in a timely manner on my own.”

Worf gave a nod at this, and they began to sort through Tasha’s things in a companionable silence. Data found that he was grateful that Worf didn’t feel the need to speak about Tasha as they worked. This was the first time he had experienced a loss of this magnitude, and he did not yet feel that he could speak about it at length, not because of any raw sense of grief, but because he did not yet know how to express what was happening to him.

Several years later, looking out at the stars and thinking of Lt. T’Lahr, Data realized that he saw himself in the young Vulcan. He didn’t know if her relationship with Novak had been anything like his with Tasha, but he at least understood that they both struggled with the emotional aspects of such a great loss, albeit coming from different places. It was a small comfort to know that he was not alone in this way.

That evening, when Data retired to his quarters, he found a significant portion of his thoughts turning once more to Tasha. It had been many years since her death, but he still missed her as if it had been yesterday. After peeling off the jacket of his dress uniform, he took a familiar little holoprojector out of his desk drawer and turned it on, revealing a miniature Tasha Yar, who smiled fondly up at him. He remembered how she had trusted him, how her attraction to him had been so affirming of his humanity, but most importantly, he remembered how satisfying it had been to make her smile. He had seen her smile approximately 242 times, and he was certain that at least 25% of them had been because of something he’d said or done. The memory of each of them was perfectly clear in his mind, but he found himself wishing for something more tangible, a new smile to add to his memories.

Counselor Troi had told him many times that dwelling too much on such things could have an adverse effect on his mental state, so he turned off the hologram and put it away. Deciding it was time for him to engage in his routine sleep cycle, he quieted most of processors and lay down on his bed, closing his eyes to initiate his dream program.

* * *

Data walked down the bright hallways of the _Enterprise_ , passing a few friendly faces. Alexander Rozhenko ran past, chased by Clara Sutter, playing some sort of tag game. Counselor Troi and Ensign Ro were giggling together outside a door about something Commander Riker had done, although Data could not ascertain what. He noted that it was good to see Ensign Ro bonding with other crewmembers. There was something particularly pleasant and familiar about seeing her giggle with Troi.

In the distance, Data heard an old Russian song playing, and as he drew closer to its source, he began to make out the lyrics. It was a haunting tune about someone losing a girl they loved to darkness. He followed it to a door, and when he opened it, the music stopped and he found himself stepping into a small but richly furnished late-Victorian dining room. The table was covered in a wide assortment of dishes from all over the galaxy, and at one end sat his father in a tailcoat. In an adjacent chair was Tasha Yar in an equally snappy tailcoat with a blue carnation adorning her lapel. They both smiled at him as he entered.

“Ah, Data! Come in, come in! Take a seat,” Dr. Soong greeted warmly, waving him over. Confused, but curious, Data complied and took the chair opposite Tasha. It was then that he realized that he too was outfitted in typical Victorian eveningwear. He fiddled with the yellow tulip that decorated his own lapel until his father spoke again. “I’m so glad both of you could join me. I always hoped that you’d make good friends, Data, but I never thought I’d get to have dinner with my boy and his girl.” Tasha blushed at this statement, and Data opened his mouth to correct Dr. Soong, as he did not know that his relationship with Tasha could be described in such terms, but then he realized that he did not want to object. This was his dream. He saw no reason not to indulge in this fantasy.

“I am glad that you have gotten to meet Tasha. She is special to me.”

“I can see that,” Soong chuckled. “Tell me a little about yourself, Miss Yar. You must be a remarkable young woman.”

“I, uh...I’m from Turkana IV and I’m Chief of Security aboard the _Enterprise_. I’m not sure there’s much else to say. Starfleet is my life,” Tasha responded somewhat awkwardly. She had never found it very easy to talk about herself. Data had observed that she often avoided it because she felt that her Starfleet qualifications and accomplishments were the only things worthwhile about her. As far as she was concerned, no one wanted to hear about her tragic past or the mundane things she did to pass the time off-duty. Data did not like to see her devalue herself so.

“That is untrue. You have many positive qualities that are not exclusive to your identity as a Starfleet officer.”

“Oh? And what are those?” Tasha challenged, taking a sip of wine.

“You excel at many sports and games. You are an aikido master. You are a lover of cats. You have a well-developed sense of humor. You are a loyal and attentive friend. You-”

“Alright, alright, I get the picture, Data.” Tasha waved him off, blushing even more than before.

“I simply wish for you to recognize that you enrich the lives of those around you,” Data told her, his expression growing soft. Tasha sighed.

“You’re so sweet, Data; I don’t know what to do with you.” That was the real crux of it all, wasn’t it? She had never known quite how to process her attraction to him or the connection they’d shared. That was why she had never tried to concretely define their relationship; she had enjoyed being with him, but hadn’t known how to accept his unconditional fondness. Her past trauma had made trust and intimacy difficult for her, but Data had always been willing to wait for her to feel comfortable enough to let him in. Hearing her call him sweet again for the first time in years made him wonder how things might have been if he’d simply had more time with her. Perhaps that was what this dream was about.

“I am certain you will figure it out.”

Dr. Soong seemed beyond pleased by all of this, watching their back-and-forth with great interest and popping grapes in his mouth.

“I’m glad my son placed his affections in a woman of such strength and humility,” he commented. Data cocked his head in confusion.

“But I am not capable of affection, Father.”

“Oh, you certainly are. In your own way. And I suspect Miss Yar knows that.” Soong looked to Tasha, who smirked and gave a small nod.

“You’re more than the sum of your parts, Data. I’ve always known that,” she confirmed, and a small smile played on the android’s lips. After a watching him a moment, she got up and came around to his side of the table, offering him her hand. “I’d like to show you something. Will you come with me?” Data looked to his father, as if to ask permission to be excused, and Dr. Soong inclined his head encouragingly.

“Go on, you crazy kids.” At this, Data took Tasha’s hand and allowed her to lead him out of the room. She let out a small giggle as she went, the way she often did whenever she was excited and anticipating his reaction to a surprised. They walked down a hallway that matched the design of the dining room until they came to a door that looked quite out of place, being like a door on the _Enterprise_. It slid open for them, revealing a room that also belonged aboard the ship. There was something familiar about it. The layout and some of the decore were very much like Tasha’s quarters, but there were many differences from his memory of the space. His own plants were present, as was his private workstation. Spot lounged on the sofa, not as the almost-adult kitten she had been in Tasha’s care, but as the crotchety middle-aged cat she was now. Several of his paintings hung on the walls, and his violin sat on the shelf beside Tasha’s 1st Place trophy for the Sol Aikido Championship of ‘57. In fact, a great many of his personal items had been integrated into the living area that he could see. It was as if they cohabitated.

“Do you like it?” Tasha asked. Data tilted his head, considering for a moment whether “like” was an appropriate way to express his reaction. She waited patiently, watching him.

“Yes,” he answered eventually. “Although it is tragic that this will remain a dream that can never be realized.” He knew he couldn’t act as if this was anything other than a dream forever, which he found to be equally tragic.

“I know. But it’s human to want things you can never have.” Tasha spoke in that soft tone she had always used when she was explaining something sad, and she shifted to stand in front him, looking directly up into his eyes. Her hands rested on his chest in a gesture of intimacy she had made only a few times before during the course of their relationship. It had always accompanied a very serious moment, usually one in which she was trying to get him to understand something about her or about himself. This occasion certainly fit that pattern.

“I miss you,” Data told her simply. He wasn’t sure what else he could say. Tasha’s absence in his life consumed his thoughts in this moment.

“I’ll always be here, whenever you need me. This room can be your sanctuary, a place to retreat to so you’ll never be lost. You made me feel safe when I was alive, so let me return the favor.”

“But you are only a memory.” Data tilted his head in confusion, and Tasha smiled, a glint of amusement in her clear blue eyes.

“Sometimes that’s all you need,” she told him before leaning up and kissing him sensuously, exactly the same way she had the first time after she had admitted to having feelings for him.

* * *

The warmth of Tasha’s soft lips against his faded as Data’s eyes opened, his dream program ending. He wished he had been able to explore the dream further, but he was due to take the bridge for Gamma Shift in 30 minutes. He could not allow his desire to dream of Tasha to interfere with his duties. And besides, he was quite sure Counselor Troi would advise him against indulging fantasies of Tasha too much.

“Computer, return lights to standard levels,” he called out, and the lights in his quarters brightened. He would have sat up then, but he found Spot curled up in his chest, still fast asleep. He gently stroked the fur along her flank for several minutes until her small green eyes opened and she yawned. “Hello, Spot,” he murmured, and she rubbed the side of her head against his neck, purring. “You are a good cat.”

As Spot heaped affection on Data, it occurred to him that she made missing Tasha easier. While the cat could not replace many aspects of Tasha’s input, she still partially accommodated his desire to share his life with someone. He cared for her, and in return, she loved and supported him, in her own cat way. Perhaps he understood now why traumatized people often acquired pets as a method of treatment. He wondered if this situation was a two-way street for Spot. After all, she had lost Tasha too. She licked his chin and slipped from his arms, hopping down from the bed and trotting across the room towards the replicator, where she meowed loudly to express her desire for food. He dutifully got up and summoned a dish of Feline Supplement #25 for her.

“I believe Tasha would be glad to see us looking after each other,” Data told Spot, petting her little head. A memory of Tasha’s amused smile flashed in his mind, and his lips echoed it. He may have lost Tasha, but she had not left him alone, and he would treasure that as best he could.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written a proper fanfic, and this is my first ever TNG fic, but hopefully y'all liked it. If all goes well, I may write other Datasha content. I have *a lot* of feels for this ship.


End file.
